


What Happens in Vegas

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Series: Drunk!Verse [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Semi-Nudity, bad singing, drunk simmons, drunk!sitting, flirty simmons, long suffering fitz, sober fitz, someone has a crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons are in Vegas for a conference. Fitz is trying to focus on work and Simmons is having fun with her conference bestie. Around about 2am, let the drunk!sitting begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens in Vegas

Fitz awoke to the jarring sound of someone trying to break into his room. They were jiggling the handle and yanking on it til it made the door shudder loudly, and then repeating the process. _Repeatedly_.

Fitz lay in bed trying to decide if he wanted to get out of his nice warm covers to tell them to sod off or if he'd rather just call down for security. Then, a lower-down sounding thunk ended with a shout of pain that was entirely too familiar to him.

Tossing off the covers, he got out of bed and then rooted around on the floor for his discarded tshirt. With a sigh of resignation, he padded over to his door and dragged it open.

"Jemma," he said flatly. "Your room is next door."

She leaned against his open door, pouting at him. Her hair was mussed and her makeup was smudged and she was holding her high heels in her hand. "But we _always_ share a room," she whined, pushing her way past him. She dropped her shoes and purse on his floor and crawled up into his bed, falling face-first onto his pillow.

Fitz rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and counted to three as his hotel room door closed. He'd _told_ Jemma when she went out with Angela that he didn't want to end up holding her hair for her tonight, and she'd told him he was being an old fuddy-duddy and she could take care of herself. Hah. So much for that idea.

He shuffled back down the short hall past the bathroom and found himself confronted with Jemma's arse in some rather risque underthings. It seemed her dress had ridden up when she'd gotten into bed and had revealed... things that were usually hidden. His eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight. Did she _usually_ wear that sort of thing? It could hardly be comfortable, could it? Did women not get wedgies? He shook his head in confused resignation and reached out to pull the duvet over her.

"So you're staying here tonight, then?" he asked with barely a hint of a question in his voice. He knew the answer. He just wasn't looking forward to it.

"Are you mad?" Jemma asked, her voice muffled by his pillow. Years of practice meant that he could detect the faint note of a sniffle, despite the interference. Great. She was already in her sad phase.

At least that meant he wouldn't have to listen to her singing showtunes at the top of her lungs.

He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Just tired," he reassured her, patting her back gently.

"So get in bed," she suggested reasonably. She shifted herself over to the other side of the bed, twisting awkwardly in the sheets and almost falling off the edge. "Oops!" she laughed, rolling back over before she lost her balance completely. "S'dangerous up here."

Fitz yawned and ran a hand through his hair. He really would like nothing better than to just pass out for a few more hours. He looked over at where Jemma was half-under the covers and half-falling off of the bed and sighed again. He really should get her sorted out, though. He had a feeling he wasn't going to make the 7:30 breakfast session after all.

He took a deep breath and stood up, trying to remember how to care for a drunk Simmons. It had certainly been a while.

"Why don't we get you cleaned up a bit, first?" he suggested. He remembered that much, at least. She worked better with suggestions than with orders. Orders tended to make her pigheaded, and he didn't want to have to deal with a stubborn Simmons at gone past 2 o'clock in the morning.

Jemma's eyes immediately filled with tears and her mouth turned down in a wobbly frown. "Do I look ugly?" she asked in a wet voice that meant crying would soon follow.

Fitz's eyes widened in panic. " _No!_ " Shit, crying Jemma was so much worse than loud Jemma. "You look..." he took in her now-messy appearance and tried to extrapolate what she might have looked like at the start of the night. Definitely _better_ , he was confident, but that didn't really help him _now_. "...Fine?" he tried.

Apparently, he'd chosen the wrong adjective because the waterworks started up immediately.

Jemma was sobbing now, hiccoughing as she tried to breathe through her tears. "You," she sniffed loudly. "Think," she gasped for a breath. "I'm," she sobbed harder. "Uh-uh- _ugly_ ," she finished, rolling onto her face and blowing her nose on his pillow.

Fitz swiped a hand down his face from his brow to his jaw. _Great_. He sighed again, shoulders slumping. Just perfect, really.

"I don't think you're ugly," he said, not quite believing it had to be said. Since when did Simmons have self-esteem issues, anyway? This was ridiculous. He should really record this and play it back for her as a way to make sure she didn't drink y'know, ever again.

"Yes, you do!" Jemma pouted, rolling onto her back and throwing the now rather mucus-y pillow at his face. Thankfully her aim was less than accurate and the pillow sailed past him and hit the wall.

"Don't be ridiculous," Fitz rolled his eyes in frustration. He'd been in bed, asleep, looking forward to the brainstorming breakfast in the morning and then _this_ had happened and all of that had gone away.

She crossed her arms and glared at him. He was really not doing well with this drunken wrangling project.

"Jemma, would you just..." Fitz pleaded, reaching out to try to get her to a sitting position. "We'll clean you up and get you some water and then you can get back in bed and sleep it off, alright?" He put on his most cheerful face in the hopes of convincing her.

"Nuh-uh," she shook her head firmly. Fitz winced when she turned slightly green as a result. "Not until you tell me I'm pretty," Jemma demanded.

"You're pretty," Fitz said immediately. "Now, how does a nice shower sound?" He stood up and walked around the bed to help her up.

Jemma squinted at him from the mess of bedding. "That doesn't sound very sincere," she prodded.

"It's _completely_ sincere," Fitz said confidently. "You're bloody _gorgeous_ , now will you _please_ get up?" The last of his patience had probably disappeared around about the third yank on his door handle. Everything since then had just been gritting his teeth and trying not to shout because he'd done that to a drunk Simmons _once_ and never again.

Jemma rolled inelegantly off of the bed and brushed off his hands once he'd helped her stand upright. She twisted her dress back down in place and haughtily threw back her hair. "Then why do you only kiss me when you're drunk?" she asked in the cool, clipped tones that usually spelled trouble.

Fitz stared at her like a rabbit in the headlamps. "Excuse me?" he asked, his voice sounding rather high to his ears and his chest feeling a bit tight with sudden anxiety.

"If I'm 'bloody gorgeous'" Jemma attempted a thick Scottish brogue and failed miserably causing Fitz to close his eyes in actual, physical pain. "Then why do you never kiss me?" she asked again. Then her face took on an attempt at a sultry look and she lurched over to spread her hands over his chest.

"I-" Fitz's eyes were so wide now he was surprised they were still in his head. Was Simmons... _coming on to him_? What in the hell had she been drinking, exactly? And how in the world did he get out of _this_ conversation without ending up with a crying mess on his hands again. "Th-the same reason you never kiss me?" he shrugged desperately.

Jemma frowned in thought for a moment, still running her hands lightly over his chest. "Oh," she said, finally. Her face cleared and she backed away from him. "Of course, that makes perfect sense," she nodded.

"So... we're okay?" Fitz asked carefully. He'd worry about this conversation later, right now he just needed to get her cleaned up and asleep before everything went all pear-shaped again.

"We're FitzSimmons," Jemma smiled happily.

"Alright, then," Fitz acknowledged, feeling a bit at sea. Still, she wasn't angry with him and she wasn't crying, so he'd take that as a win. "Are you ready to shower now?" He might be pushing his luck, but it was worth a shot.

"Yup!" Jemma reached around behind herself and unzipped her dress. It pooled around her ankles and revealed a bra that was just as surprising as her knickers had been.

Fitz blushed scarlet and immediately turned to point the way to the bathroom. "Why don't you finish getting undressed in there?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Good idea," Jemma agreed, unhooking her bra as she walked down the short hallway.

Fitz blew out a relieved breath as the door closed behind her. Now he just had to get her something to sleep in.

He was reaching down to the floor for her bag to see if she still had her room's key card when it started.

"Danke schoen, darling danke schoen..."

He hung his head and sighed again. Great. Loud Jemma.

He might as well just get dressed and order room service because there was no way he'd be sleeping tonight.


End file.
